


Directions

by Liztalkstrash



Category: due South
Genre: M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 07:56:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18494671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liztalkstrash/pseuds/Liztalkstrash
Summary: I wrote and finished this fic years ago, but I worried that it was too self-indulgent and pointless, so I never posted it anywhere. I've been looking through my old fic though, and this doesn't look as bad as I always thought it did, so I'm posting it now before I can chicken out again.





	Directions

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote and finished this fic years ago, but I worried that it was too self-indulgent and pointless, so I never posted it anywhere. I've been looking through my old fic though, and this doesn't look as bad as I always thought it did, so I'm posting it now before I can chicken out again.

The sun was slanting low over the hills in the distance, tinging everything gold and making it hard to see anything directly west. Sounds pretty, but the intensity of the glare meant was Kowalski was forced to turn his back on the view of idyllic New England countryside and instead face half a sweaty and swearing Vecchio hanging out from under the hood of his broke-down car, which was haphazardly parked across multiple spaces of a dingy roadside bar packed to the gills with drunken hicks listening to shitty country.

Kowalski instead turned south, screwing his right eye closed against the blinding light. That was better. He could still see the faded wood paneling on his left, and hear his partner's cursing mixed with Shania Twain announcing that she feels like a woman, but beyond that he could see an undulating green field stretching towards the patchwork autumn red of the ever-present hills, broken only by the brown mass of an abandoned barn poking out of the weeds. A slight breeze caressed him and he closed his eyes, taking in the smells of hot dirt and greenery, with a faint whiff of burning oil. Eyes still closed, Kowalski asked the world at large, "So how much further to Buffalo, you think?"

A thunk coupled with a particularly vicious oath made Kowalski turn back, to where Vecchio was now extracting himself from the bowels of the Riv while flapping a hand and grimacing. "Shit, Kowalski, do I look like I know? Get the damn map out, do the math."

Vecchio climbed back into the wreckage while Kowalski gave his wifebeater-covered torso the stink eye. If he wasn't certain Vecchio was wholly preoccupied with resuscitating his precious Riviera, he'd think Vecchio had given him that order just to jerk him around. Kowalski sucked at the map, Vecchio _knew_ Kowalski sucked at the map. He had spent almost the whole drive here marveling, mockingly, at how a guy who spent a year tromping all over the top of Canada couldn't figure out how to get from Chicago to Detroit without three tries and a stop at the nearest 7-11 for help. Kowalski had argued that it was a lot different when you were cutting your own path across the land, but Vecchio, the smug bastard, had just laughed and said Fraser had probably done all the bold path-cutting. It was true, unfortunately. Kowalski had just never been any good at directions, beyond knowing the sun rose in the east and set in the west (and sometimes he fucked that up too). Whatever, he could get around Chicago just fine, couldn't he? Fuck Vecchio, and fuck the map.

He got the map out anyways, spreading it over the roof of the car.

"Okay, so we're past the Pennsylvania border, we been driving for about... 20 minutes since then; I looked at the clock when your shitty fucking car decided to take a nap in the middle of the road-"

"Fuck you."

"-yeah, fuck you too buddy, not my fault you keep buying the same crap after fate keeps givin' you the finger-"

"Yeah, it wasn't fate that drove the last one into the fucking _lake-_ "

"- _anyways_ , since we're still on 417- we're still on 417, right?"

"There's a sign over there." An arm emerged from behind the hood to jab in a vaguely westward direction. Kowalski tried not to think about how good engine grease looked against a tan, or how weirdly muscular Vecchio seemed without a million different layers of suit on.

"It's bright and I don't got my glasses on."

A heavy sigh. "Yes, we're still on 417."

"Okay, good." Kowalski slowly traced their route with a fingertip. "So using this stupid little mile ruler that never actually works anyway, I deduce that we are somewhere in the vicinity of Salamanca, New York."

"Hamlet of Kill Buck."

"What?" Kowalski squinted against the sun, willing his eyes to actually work for once. "Is that what the sign says?" He could see a green blur near the taller white and black blurs, but that was about it.

"Yeah. Saw it right before the Riv stalled."

"You fu- you knew! You did that on purpose!"

Vecchio popped his head around the side of the hood to give him a dazzling grin that made his heart flip upside down. "Yeah, I know it’s unfair to pick on the stupid, but how could I resist?"

"Fuck you," Kowalski shot back, but his still-woozy heart wasn't in it. He stuffed the map back in through the window, not even bothering to try and fold it up, before resuming his place a few feet from the car, facing north this time. The sun had set enough that he could keep his left eye open, and he let his gaze wander over the copse of ash, drifting across the street to a small house and an even tinier cafe, which appeared to be closed already. He turned again to the east, about to ask why anybody would name a place "Kill Buck" or for that matter, a bar "The Pyramid" outside of Egypt or Vegas, but the words died in his throat.

Vecchio was standing now, staring straight back at him. He was shiny with sweat, looking almost oiled, and what had once been a pristine white tank was stained dark with perspiration, clinging to his wiry frame. A dark patch of hair was peeking over the low collar. But what really got Kowalski wasn't the fact that Vecchio looked like a mechanic out of a porno. It was the look on his face, completely open, like he hadn't ever really seen anything like Kowalski before. He barely even seemed to notice Kowalski looking back at him. Time, already so slow in this quiet part of the world, rolled to a stop.

Then Vecchio came back to himself, looking back to the Riv and clearing his throat. Kowalski started to breathe again. "So," Vecchio began, still looking at the engine, his voice rougher than Kowalski remembered it being. "I don't think we're gonna get the old girl running tonight. Wanna head inside, get something to eat, maybe see if they got hotels in this part of the country?"

Kowalski closed his eyes one last time, feeling the dying rays burning the back of his neck. "Yeah. Okay."


End file.
